THE LEGEND OF SILVERHEELS

by Pam North

Seven miles from Fairplay there once existed, for the brief period
between 1861 to 1864, a small mining town called Buckskin Joe.  Before
its demise it was the Park County seat, boasting a modest courthouse,
a theater, saloons, dance halls, parlor houses, two banks and an
assortment of miscellaneous other businesses.  It was also here, as
one legend would have it, that a woman who came to be called
Silverheels got her start.

She arrived in Buckskin Joe and became either a dance hall girl or a
prostitute.  She was beautiful, good-natured, and a graceful dancer
who wore sparkling silver slippers, which earned her her unusual
nickname.  She was very popular with the men of the mining camp.  One
of the miners captured her fancy, and when he proposed, she accepted.
Fate intervened, however, and thwarted the wedding plans of the
star-crossed couple.  Smallpox struck Buckskin Joe, closing the town
down and causing many of its residents to flee to Fairplay to escape
exposure.  Unfortunately, Silverheels' lover contracted the disease,
and he soon succumbed to it, despite her earnest efforts to nurse him
through the epidemic.  Heartbroken, she nevertheless remained in
Buckskin Joe, tending the stricken miners and their family members.
She cooked for them, cleaned their houses, washed their clothes and
did all she could to encourage and ensure their survival, and in that
process she earned their respect and gratitude.  When the epidemic had
run its course, the townfolk tried to express their appreciation by
collecting some money to give her, but she was nowhere to be found;
she had left without a word to anyone.  The citizens, still determined
to thank her in some way, chose the distant highest and most scenic
mountain peak, and named it after her - Mt. Silverheels.

A woman, dressed in black and heavily veiled, was seen many years
later visiting the local cemetery, and many believed it was
Silverheels, returning to visit her lover's grave.

That is how the legend goes, and like many mountain tales it probably
is a mixture of truth and fantasy.  There is some corroboration for it
in an account by a man who once lived in the camp.  His version
provides a different twist, and gives her the identity of Josie
Dillon, who arrived by stagecoach in a small unnamed town with an ore
mill, somewhere in the Alma/Fairplay/Buckskin Joe vicinity; it may
have been Dudley, since a mill existed there.  She seemed somewhat
dazed, then fainted and was taken to the home of some residents to
recover.  She began helping them in their household, and quietly
became a part of the community.  Whatever had happened to her before
her life in Buckskin Joe was never divulged.

When news of the great Chicago fire (October 8, 1871) reached the
Colorado town, the community was one of many throughout the nation to
aspire to raise relief funds for those left homeless by the
devastating blaze.  An entertainment program was planned to solicit
donations for the cause, and Josie Dillon volunteered her talents,
which proved to be considerable, to the event.  She apparently had
studied for the stage at one time, and she amazed everyone with her
singing and dancing, all performed while wearing wondrous, glittering
silver shoes with golden toes.  Her outstanding talent pleased her
audience with such success that $1,750 was raised in the town that
evening, a sum larger than the total raised from all the surrounding
mining camps.

Smallpox was a part of this story as well, brought when two Mexican
sheepherders came down with the disease while passing through town.
Josie personally paid doctors and nurses to come and tend the sick,
and she herself pitched in tirelessly to help through the epidemic.
Despite her efforts to be discreet about her endeavors, the people
soon realized her role in helping their town recover, and they were
very grateful.

Eventually Josie married Jack Herndon, a local owner of a saloon and
gambling hall, and the couple reluctantly moved away, first to Denver
and then to Kentucky.  Both were missed by the mountain community they
had left.  When a survey crew later mapped the region, they asked the
miners to suggest a name for a large mountain visible from the town,
and the unanimous choice was Mt. Silverheels, a tribute to a kind and
generous woman whom they remembered with affection.

Whatever story is the true one, and whether Silverheels was saint or
sinner, or a bit of both, she left her mark on Colorado.